The Other Woman
by Potions Student
Summary: Teri wrestles with thoughts about Jack's 'other woman'. PreS1, no spoilers. Complete.


Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to FOX, for love not money, yadda, yadda. You know the drill.

A/N: Written for the LiveJournal community fanfic100. Prompt for this one was "She".

**The Other Woman **

**by Karen Shepherd**

Teri waved once more to Kim as her daughter bounded up the sidewalk toward her friends, then quickly put her car into drive and pulled out of her parking space. There was a lineup of minivans, sedans and SUVs behind her, all parents waiting to drop their kids off at school.

For a moment, she toyed with the idea of just heading out for a while, going to Borders or Starbucks and sitting down with a coffee and a magazine. But then there were projects waiting for her in their home office, clients she needed to call. Besides, she knew that if she went out now she'd only be avoiding the inevitable. Avoiding Jack.

She hit the gas a little harder than she'd intended to, leaping into the intersection as the light turned green, her fingers tapping against the wheel in irritation.

Jack had come in late the previous night; not that that was an unusual occurrence, but he usually got home before midnight at the very least. The night before, though, she hadn't heard the garage door open and close until nearly three in the morning, by which time she'd been too annoyed to discuss it. Instead she'd feigned sleep as he'd crept into their bedroom, changed in the ensuite bathroom and climbed into bed, quiet as a cat. When he climbed in beside her, curling up to her and putting an arm around her waist, it had taken all her self control not to push his arm away.

Watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he'd come in, she'd noticed one thing: he hadn't been wearing the same clothes he'd worn to work the day before.

She wasn't an idiot. She might not know exactly what Jack's job entailed, but he was in law enforcement, and she was well aware what that meant. Long hours, dangerous situations. Both of those meant vices to take the edge off the stress: alcohol, drugs, women.

She knew it wasn't the first two.

It wasn't that she was the jealous type, either; she trusted Jack that he wouldn't cheat. Trusted him when he siad he'd been working until late, when he said he'd had to stop somewhere after work, when his pager or cellphone went off at odd hours and he had to leave, no matter what was going on. But at the same time, Jack was handsome--very handsome--and he could be friendly and pleasing when he wanted to be.

This wasn't the first time she'd wondered if maybe there was another woman at work, someone he could talk to about things that he couldn't tell her about. That maybe he did more than talk with.

Arriving back at the house, she closed the garage door behind her and walked into the house, listening for a moment. No sounds of movement; Jack was probably still asleep. It was unlike him, but of course he usually got in earlier. He'd slept all through the alarm and the usual bustle of getting Kimberly off to school, when usually he was the first one up.

_Fine, I'll let him sleep_, she thought irritably, _obviously he's had a busy night_.

He'd left his duffel bag in the hall by the garage door and she looked at it for a moment before crouching down and unzipping the main flap. Usually she wouldn't look through Jack's things; the briefcase on the island in the kitchen at the moment she knew instinctually was completely off-limits, even if it hadn't had a couple combination locks on it. His duffel though... All that would be in there were clothes. And it would be perfectly reasonable for a wife to get a start on her husband's work clothes, right?

As she'd thought, there were clothes inside, the same ones he'd been wearing the day before when he'd left for work. Pulling them out, she half expected, half feared the smell of perfume, a smell of someone other than her husband. But instead there was another smell, sharper, less pleasant than perfume.

Blood.

The lower-right hand side of his shirt was stained a deep reddish-brown, broken only by a small, round hole. She sank to her knees, holding the bloodied shirt in her hands and stared at it. For a moment, she sat there, stunned, before she glanced back at the bag and spotted a prescription pill bottle in the bottom of the bag. The words on it are the kind that she couldn't begin to pronounce, but she knews what they meant: painkillers, strong ones.

_No wonder he slept through everything this morning._

Part of her felt guilty for doubting him, part of her was even more furious with him at that moment, for not calling her, not telling her about this. She knew his job was dangerous, had seen him come home with cuts and bruises--and worse--too often for her not to have that little worry in the back of her mind every time the phone rang when Jack wasn't home. That little thought that wondered if this would be CTU calling to tell her he was badly hurt, or worse, at least until she realized that in _that_ case, it'd be a knock on the door, not a phone call.

He'd been hurt, shot, and he hadn't called. Had just crept into the house, trying not to wake up her or Kim--what _that_ must have cost him in pain and energy--and curled up next to her as though nothing was wrong. Had tried to pretend it didn't exist, even though she always--_always_--asked him about every injury, even though she knew before she asked that he probably couldn't tell her how he got it. She always asked, because she never wanted him to think that she didn't care.

In the end, Jack did have a mistress: his work. That other woman who sank her claws into him until he bled. The one who played for keeps. The one she worried she'd someday lose him to.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching, didn't see him until his voice broke her concentration.

"I was going to throw those out." She looked up and saw him leaning against the wall, his face pale, his arm hugging his right side protectively. For a moment she wasn't sure sure whether she should hug him or hit him. The hug won out, though, and she got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him gently, careful not to put any pressure on his wounds.

"Jack, why didn't you call me and _tell_ me about this?" she said, feeling tears prickling her eyes as she leaned her head on his shoulder, drinking in the smell of him.

One arm snaked around her back, holding her. "I didn't want to worry you."

"_Jack_..." She let the rest of her mental tirade pass with an irritated noise as the only outward evidence of it. This wasn't the time to nag him about this kind of thing. Besides, she didn't really have the heart for it at the moment. She was too busy just reassuring herself that he was there, alive, safe for the moment.

After a moment she pulled back and kissed him. "You shouldn't be out of bed; you can hardly stand up straight. Go get some rest." He was obviously in too much pain and too tired to argue, as he only kissed her back, murmuring a "love you" before he shuffled back to the bedroom.

She was left standing in the hallway, holding her husband's bloodstained shirt and trying not to cry. For a moment, she didn't do anything but stand there. Eventually though, she took the shirt into the garage, stuffing it in the garbage, and firmly closing the lid on it, as if she could hold the things that tried to destroy her family at bay by discarding the evidence of them. Once Jack had got some sleep, once he was feeling a bit better, then they would have a talk about this not-calling-when-he's-in-mortal-peril business.

Teri knew she might not be able to stop Jack's other woman from trying to destroy him, but she wasn't going to be a silent, second partner to it either.


End file.
